


i just had sex with my ex (in a gotham apartment)

by connorswhisk



Series: killin' me alive [1]
Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/F, The joker sucks, harlivy really is the best pairing out there, not joker friendly, title makes it sound like its smut but its just alluded to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: On a cold and rainy night in Gotham City, Harley Quinn goes to see her best friend, Poison Ivy.'Course, when your best friend is also your ex-lover, things can get kinda complicated.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Series: killin' me alive [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199774
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	i just had sex with my ex (in a gotham apartment)

**Author's Note:**

> absolutely fell in love with this pairing, binge-watched the harley quinn show, and here we are
> 
> title taken from sex (with my ex) by fletcher

Harley doesn’t _mean_ to go to Ivy’s place, but that’s where she ends up.

It had been subconscious, a kinda knee-jerk reaction. Plus, Ivy’s apartment isn’t all that far away from where Harley is, only a walk of a couple a’ blocks, and -

And she sorta _misses_ Ivy. There’s that, too, even though she doesn’t wanna admit it.

Harley sure picked a helluva night to go out, though. It’s pourin’ cats and fuckin’ dogs in Gotham. Ol’ Batsy might not even be able to see the Signal through all the sheets of silvery rain coatin’ the city.

Cryin’ shame, that would be.

It’s only as she’s climbin’ the stairs to Ivy’s floor (fuckin’ _elevator broke down, fucks sake_ ) that Harley realizes - she hasn’t seen Ivy since her last stint in Arkham.

_(Ivy had been the one to bust Harley out that time - Harley was supposed to have escaped two weeks before with Mistah J, but she’d been caught while he got gone, and he’d promised to come back for her as soon as he could. Harley knows that even if Ivy hadn’t helped her, Mistah J woulda come back for her, eventually - and she’d pulled the doors to Harley’s cell right off their hinges with a couple a’ huge vines, and held out her hand and yanked Harley right outta there, fought off all the guards and gotten Harley her bat back, and then she’d brought her back to her place and they’d laughed and laughed, and Harley had been so_ happy.

_And then Harley’d left, gone back to Mistah J, because she had to go home to her Puddin’, and she knew it, and she loved him.)_

Fuck, they haven’t even gone out for coffee or nothin’, Ivy’s just been here at her apartment, and Harley’s been, Harley’s been _everywhere,_ and she hasn’t dropped by to see Ives _once,_ and it’s been a long fuckin’ time, longer than Harley had wanted, but things have been busy lately, and she hasn’t had the opportunity to do this for a while.

It ain’t like she does this often, but - she does it enough.

“Jesus,” Ivy remarks when she opens the door. She doesn’t even look surprised to see Harley there. “You’re soaked.”

Harley grins. “Ya gonna let me in, or what?”

Ivy rolls her eyes, but steps aside, shuts the door behind Harley once she’s in.

The penthouse is a cozy place, and Harley’s always liked it - it’s warm, and there are plants everywhere, and Ivy’s a pretty fuckin’ good interior decorator, and the view out the windows of the city is pretty nice, and…Well, it’s a lot different from what Harley’s used to, that’s all.

“Need a towel?” Ivy asks, quirkin’ an eyebrow and crossin’ her arms. In the smolder of the room’s dim yellow lights, her green skin glows and her red hair _shines,_ and Harley -

Harley smiles wide. “That ain’t no way to say hello,” she says, and pulls Ivy forward into a hug.

_(It’s a good hug, a_ really _good hug. Harley’s missed these hugs.)_

“You’re dripping on my carpet,” Ivy says, voice muffled by Harley’s shoulder, and then, “Where’ve you been?”

Harley leans back, shrugs. “Oh, ya know. All over the place.”

“You haven’t come to see me in a while,” Ivy says, tone almost accusatory, and then, much gentler, “I missed you.”

“Aww,” Harley coos, pattin’ Ivy’s cheek, and Ivy smiles, softlike. “I missed ya, too. Sorry I haven’t been around much. Been busy, me and Mistah J.”

Ivy hums and sits down on her couch. Harley falls backwards over the arm and lands with her head in Ivy’s lap. Ivy’s fingers jump to undoin’ Harley’s pigtails and combin’ through her wet hair almost immediately, and Harley welcomes the long-gone feelin’ back with open arms.

“What’s he up to tonight that he didn’t want you to be a part of?” Ivy asks. “You don’t come around here unless he’s busy.”

Harley frowns. “What d’ya mean? I can come here whenever I like.”

Ivy raises an eyebrow, scrapes a fingernail across Harley’s scalp, makes her shiver a bit. “Where is he, Harls?”

Harley closes her eyes and thinks of fireworks. “Mistah J’s off fightin’ the Bat. The usual.”

“He couldn’t have brought you along?”

“Careful, Ivy, I’ll get to thinkin’ that you don’t want me here,” Harley jokes. “Nah, sometimes he likes to fight him alone. They got a very special bond, y’know,” she says seriously.

Ivy scoffs. From the feel of her fingers, she’s fixin’ to braid Harley’s hair. “So do washing machines and dryers. They’re not special.”

And that sorta makes Harley laugh, but she shuts up real quick.

“So, what have you been up to?” she asks, rushin’ to change the subject. “Kill any billionaires lately?”

“Did you hear about the Faulkner Corporation?”

Harley nods. It was all over the papers a week back - the Faulkner Corp got busted for dumpin’ waste in the river, and then all of their employees were mysteriously murdered in a freak accident involvin’ - well, involvin’ exactly what Harley trusted it would.

“That was me,” Ivy says proudly.

“I knew it,” Harley tells her, grinnin’. “I knew it was you! You coulda called me up, y’know. We coulda made a day out of it, together.”

She misses when _together_ meant her and Ivy - Harley loves Mistah J, and she’ll always love him, but…

Well, she can’t get to thinkin’ like that, now.

“I thought about it,” Ivy confesses. “But I wasn’t sure if you’d be free.”

“What? C’mon, Ives, you know I can always make time for ya!”

Ivy sighs. “Let me rephrase that - I wasn’t sure if _he’d_ let you come along.”

Oh, there it fuckin’ _is._ Ivy’s _always_ doin’ this, always tryin’ to convince Harley that Mistah J is no good for her. Who gives her the right to do that, huh? Ivy doesn’t _know._ Ivy ain’t part of the _relationship._ She just doesn’t _understand_ the very deep love Harley and Mistah J have for each other - no matter what Harley tells her.

“C’mon,” Harley says. “Mistah J always lets me do what I like!”

Ivy doesn’t say anythin’, and Harley figures it’s time for another topic change. “Really, Pammy, how ya been?”

Ivy’s quiet for a minute, and then she says, “Fine, Harls. I’ve been fine. You?”

Harley beams, starin’ up at Ivy upside-down-like from in her lap. “Peachy, baby, just peachy!”

Ivy smiles. “Ok.” She brushes the hair away from Harley’s face, and Harley’s heart does a lil’ tap dance in her chest. “I’m done.”

Harley sits up, feels the heavy wet braid lyin’ on the back of her neck and grins. “I love it when you do my hair for me, Ives.” Her eyes light up with a sudden idea. “Can I do yours?”

Ivy smiles, shakin’ her head. “I don’t really - “

“Aw, c’mon!” Harley turns on the puppy dog eyes. “ _Pretty please?_ ”

Ivy makes a face, then sighs, rollin’ her eyes. “Ok.”

Harley grins. Fuck yeah. Puppy dog eyes never fail.

_(Well, unless you’re Mistah J, and immune to that sorta thing, respond to it with a sneer and a smack across the face instead of a sigh and a smile. Harley knows better than to try it on him anymore, but she shoulda known better than to try it at all.)_

So Harley sits behind Ivy and gets to weavin’ her _(beautiful, beautiful red hair)_ into a big ol’ French braid, while Ivy switches the TV on to a _CSI: Gotham_ rerun, and they laugh at the dumbass cops and how bad they are at solvin’ crimes, and speculate on how many times Jim Gordon’s wife has asked for a divorce over the years.

“More or less than three?”

Harley considers it. “I’d say an even five,” she decides, and she and Ivy collapse into fits of laughter.

Harley finished twistin’ Ivy’s hair into twin tails half an hour ago, but Ivy hasn’t moved from her place up against Harley’s chest, head lain back on Harley’s shoulder (and Harley ain’t complainin’ about it, neither). _God,_ Harley’s happy to see her, see her hair and her eyes and her everythin’ again. It’s been too long (or maybe it hasn’t been that long at all, but it just feels that way).

And Ivy’s so warm, and her head’s thrown back with laughter (even if what was said wasn’t even all that funny), and her eyes are scrunched up tight, and Harley looks at her and she _burns._

She almost leans around and kisses her. She almost does.

_(She remembers the first time Ivy had ever kissed her - Harley had still been_ Harleen _back then,and had been quickly fallin’ under Mistah J’s spell. But she’d been in a session with Ivy, and Ivy had_ kissed _her, and Harleen had pushed her away, almost called for the guard._

_And then she’d kissed Ivy back, harder, fixed her lipstick, and left the room, head buzzin’ and hands shakin’, because she was fallin’ for the Joker but she’d kissed_ Ivy _first._

_They hadn’t done it again until after she’d become Harley. And that time, it had been all Ivy’s doin’, because Harley had had a man by then and she knew that, and Harley had pushed Ivy away._

_The first time the Joker left Arkham without her, she went back for more. She was Mistah J’s girl through and through, but Ivy was there for a good fuck when she needed it, and a little more than that, too.)_

_(They’ve never said_ I love you _to each other. Harley can’t say that to Ivy, and Ivy knows it.)_

But she doesn’t kiss her. Because she knows she ain’t supposed to do that no more.

Ivy quiets down, stares at Harley for a moment, then declares -

“Vodka.”

And Harley’s never been one to turn down a drink from anyone, so she lets Ivy get up to grab the bottle from the fridge and tries not to look at her ass as she walks away.

Ivy doesn’t bring glasses because they don’t _need_ glasses, so they pass the bottle back and forth while the TV blares in the background and talk shit about anyone they feel like, everyone from the Mayor to Jason Todd (may he rest easy and all that) to Harvey fuckin’ Dent, and they drink and drink and drink until Harley’s vision goes fuzzy and her tongue feels all heavy in her mouth, and her face feels warm, warm, warm.

And she’s just gettin’ to thinkin’, dimly, that she should probably make her way back to Mistah J’s place sooner rather than later if she wants to greet him with a kiss and maybe more, when Ivy says,

“I miss being with you.”

Harley ignores the way her breath quickens and points at the TV screen. “Ha! Who’d ever wanna buy an umbrella for their fuckin’ _dog?_ Look at that, that’s ridiculous. Dog’s cute, though,” she adds, pointedly not meetin’ Ivy’s eyes.

“ _Harley,_ ” she persists. “Don’t ignore me. I _miss_ being with you.”

Harley swallows. Sighs. Makes herself look at Ivy. “What do ya want me to say, Ives? You know I can’t do anythin’ about that.”

Ivy shakes her head. “But you _could,_ ” she says. She moves forward and puts her hands on either side of Harley’s face, and Harley feels them, warm and solid and real. “You could,” Ivy repeats, quietly, an indescribable look in her eyes.

“Ivy,” Harley mutters, runnin’ her tongue over her lips. “Ivy, you’re drunk. I’ve - I’ve gotta get back, now…”

“Stay,” Ivy pleads. “Stay with me. I - you - _Please._ ”

Harley prepares to say no again, to stagger to her feet and walk out the door. Her lips part to form the sentence, the word lies heavy on her tongue -

“Ok,” she says. “I’ll stay, Pammy.”

And Ivy didn’t even hit her with the puppy dog eyes. _Shit._

“Hey,” Harley says quietly, because Ivy hasn’t taken her hands off her cheeks yet. “If ya really want to, we can talk about this another time, when we ain’t drinkin’, yeah? How’s that sound?”

Harley can listen to what Ivy has to say to her. It’ll be hard, but she can do it. She _was_ a psychologist, after all - she’s _good_ at listenin’, but it’s better when she’s not vodka-drunk. And she’d _really_ need to be sober for a conversation like this.

She doesn’t know what she’ll say to Ivy, if and when they talk. She doesn’t know what she _can_ say. Not what Ivy wants to hear, probably.

“S’that sound good?” Harley asks again.

Ivy’s eyes are screwed shut. She mumbles somethin’ incoherent.

“What’d ya say?”

“I _love_ you,” Ivy repeats, louder, eyes still closed, and Harley’s throat constricts like a Chinese finger trap.

“ _Oh, Ives,_ ” she whispers. “ _You weren’t ever supposed to say that._ ”

And Ivy, without openin’ her eyes, brings her lips to Harley’s.

The effect is immediate. Harley’s body kicks into overdrive, her head starts reelin’, her heart beats at triple the normal speed. Her skin heats up and her lungs shrink and she _kisses back._ This happened the first time they kissed, and the second, and the third, and the fourth, and every time after, and it’s goin' to continue happenin’ as long as Harley and Ivy keep kissin’.

It ain’t the vodka that makes Harley feel that way. It ain’t Ivy’s plant pheromones, either. It’s just _her._

But Ivy breaks away almost immediately, leavin’ Harley on a sharp and frustratin’ cusp.

“Sorry,” she says, eyes finally open again, dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re - We’re drunk. We shouldn’t.”

Harley groans, irritated. “That’s never stopped us before,” she retorts, but then again, they’ve never done anythin’ like this in a place that wasn’t the dark and secluded corners of Arkham, kissin’ in the halls in the dead of night, half-naked inside a maintenance closet, whisperin’ secret words to each other through the tiny, carved-out gap in the wall between their cells.

Ivy shakes her head. “You should just go. He’s probably waiting for you.”

And that’s true, but Harley grabs Ivy’s hands and says, “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter.”

Ivy’s eyes look suspiciously glassy. “I love you,” she murmurs again.

Harley’s heart gives a painful twinge, and she has to work to blink away the tears in her own eyes. “You know I can’t say it back,” she says, voice kinda quiverin’. “You know I can’t do it, Pammy.”

Ivy wears a look of unfathomable sadness, but she says, “I know,” and climbs on top of Harley and kisses her again.

Ivy kisses Harley all over, like she always has. Deep, searin’ kisses on her lips, soft, feather-light ones all over her face, wet, hot ones down her neck and towards her collarbones. Harley returns the sentiment by movin’ her hands all over Ivy’s body, tight on her hips, unravelin’ her braids, slack and gentle on her shoulders. Ivy tastes like vodka and tangerine, and Harley drinks it up, savors the flavor on her tongue and chases after more.

_(Mistah J always tastes like chemicals, cold and cruel, remindin’ Harley of the fact that he is a manufactured product, and so is she. Harley wonders if that’s what Ivy can taste on_ her _lips, now, but she doesn’t like the thought.)_

Kissin’ Ivy here, in her apartment, is a completely different experience from kissin’ her at the Asylum. There’s no cold wall against Harley’s back, no guards tryin’ to separate ‘em, no warden breathin’ down their necks, and there sure as _shit_ ain’t no distant sound of the Riddler oratin’ one of his stupid fuckin’ puzzles. Instead, there are soft couch cushions underneath Harley, warm yellow lights and an empty bottle of vodka, Ivy’s lips and Ivy’s hands and Ivy, Ivy, _Ivy,_ and the only thing Harley can hear besides her own breathin’ is the distant sound of police sirens, a regular fixture of the Gotham atmosphere.

In short - it’s the best fuckin’ kiss of Harley’s _life._

“Don’t give me any hickeys,” Harley mutters as Ivy latches onto her neck again. She doesn’t wanna have to explain anythin’ to Mistah J, and Ivy seems to understand that without it needin’ to be said.

Ivy’s good like that.

“Get this off,” she murmurs, pullin’ at Harley’s shirt, and Harley is quick to comply, and somewhere between her hair comin’ undone and Ivy unhookin’ her bra, Harley loses herself completely.

**— — —**

She wakes up some time later, suddenly, unwanted, the beginnings of a hangover startin’ to throb behind her eyes. It’s early enough to still be dark outside, but Harley knows that it probably won’t last for long. She’s gotta get back to Mistah J, and quick.

She moves swiftly, silently, so she doesn’t wake Ivy, who’s snorin’ softly the way she always used to in her cell, whose hair is a mess, whose perfect lips are slightly parted, whose body is only just barely covered by the tangle of blankets on the couch…Ivy, who’d told Harley she loved her, and Harley, who hadn’t been able to say it back.

_(“Listen, I don’t need your therapy, and I don’t need your fucking_ pity, _either” were the first words Ivy had ever said to Harley, and tonight Ivy had said somethin’ else entirely.)_

_(The first words Harley had said to Ivy were, “I’m not a therapist, and I can’t say that I pity you.” She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known then, and she doesn’t know now.)_

Ivy shifts slightly, mumblin’ somethin’ in her sleep, arms outstretched to embrace a body that ain’t there anymore. Harley -

Harley pulls on her still-damp clothes, and staggers back to where she really belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> harlivy for bop sequel 2k21
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://connorswhisk.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/connorswhisk)


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